Saviour
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: When Rose finds herself trapped in a world she doesn't want to be in, it's Scorpius who saves her. /a tale of girls lost to the dark side of London, inabilties to reach their dreams and the re-appearance of someone never expected to be seen again. Contains more adult themes. /twoshot.
1. Part One

**AN:**

This is my **350th** story that I've just reached, and I decided to make it Rose/Scorpius, because that's one of my Harry Potter OTPs.

The plotline includes mentions of prostitution, so if you don't like this, please don't read.

The characterisation of Rose is very different to anything I've written; she's discontented with her life and so decides to run away into the Muggle side of London. I've never written anything like this, and her confusion between what she wants and what she'll get is what I tried to put across, though I'm not sure if I did.

This is dedicated to **Alice **(felines) and members of the **RoseScorpius Fans **forum, which you lot reading this ought to check out.

* * *

_Rose Weasley 21 years old  
Missing for three years  
She has ginger hair, blue eyes and is 5"6  
Please email Hermione_weasley hotmail if you know her whereabouts_

Rose used to feel guilty whenever she'd see one of these posters, guilty that she'd abandoned her entire life and nobody from it knew where she was, but now she doesn't care. It's out of date—she's been out of the wizarding world for almost a decade now—and she's seen so many all over London that she's mastered blending them into all the other missing posters.

This one's on an electricity post, the posters climbing higher than Rose's head with missing people, animals and possessions; it's only due to the disintegration of the more recent posters due to the heavy rains of late that she's back to the forefront of those lost to the darker side of London. Well, that and the fact that every poster that's been put up searching for her has been put there with a permanent sticking charm, as well as the paper being charmed to never fade or be destroyed, so she's always going to come back to the surface.

Not that she wants to.

It's been nine years, three months and a few days since she left a note for her parents saying _'don't look for me. Please, if you love me, don't try and find me'_ next to her wand and everything that related to the wizarding world that she owned, and sometimes, she regrets her actions with regards to distancing herself so absolutely. She's missed her little brother, Hugo, since the off, and it's sometimes hard to resist the urge to call her parents' home number when she's making her way home from work at ten o'clock in the morning, but she's made it so far—and she's happy that she left behind the world of magic.

Well, she is and she isn't; after all, she never expected to be working as she does now, on the streets of London, its seedy and dark side something she only experienced when she came out here alone.

"Rose, we're moving round onto the corner of 6th Street, ok?" Angela, her boss of sorts, says, picking up the bag that contains all the sensitive details about their cliental—the information that protects the girls, because if they're hurt, the wives of their customers find out about their out-of-hours activities. "We've got word from the guys round the corner that the coppers are coming down this way tonight, and it's a pain in the backside to get released on a Friday night."

Rose nods, tearing her gaze from the pole that has the picture of herself on it—an outdated one now, one of her happy and smiling, almost in a different universe to her current one—before picking up the bag containing her keys and phone, following Angela.

"Do…do the clients know we've moved?" she asks hesitantly, not sure how to refer to those who solicit their company. This job—way of life, really—is something she's been doing for about a year, and still she hopes for the day that she'll win the lottery and be able to get away from this side of the Muggle world. When she broke free of her world of expectations and fame, she swore that she'd get a good job in the Muggle world, that she'd be famous for _herself_, rather than for being Ron and Hermione Weasley's daughter, but that hasn't worked out.

Instead, she's found herself working doss jobs, ones that barely paid the rent, ones that she's been shoved out of in favour of cheaper labour, her lack of qualifications (ones relevant to this world, at least) meaning that she's been barely able to scrape the bottom of the barrel jobs.

And now, with the recession of the other year, even those jobs are gone; graduates from universities are taking the cleaning jobs she once had, and…and then she realised that this was the only way she could afford to keep her flat. If she had brought her wand with her, she could have—but, as she's done every time she's considered using magic to break free of her problems, Rose stops herself. If she had brought her wand, she wouldn't have distanced herself from that world wholly, would have given her parents an indication that _maybe_, just maybe, she'll want to come back. And that's something she didn't want.

"Rose?" Angela says, and Rose jumps slightly, realising that Angela's been talking to her for the duration of their walk around the corner. "You're always doing that, you know; it's off-putting for the clients if they see you staring like that…like you're a simpleton."

"Sorry," Rose mutters, staring at her feet, clad in ridiculously high heels. "I…what did you say?"

"I was just going to inform you that you've got someone coming for you at ten, so don't take on anyone if it means you won't be back before then," Angela informs her, and Rose immediately looks at her watch: eight thirty. There's no way that, even if she disappeared with someone now, she'd be back in time; she's literally got nothing to do for the next ninety minutes.

"Alright," she sighs, hoping that this'll pay well, even if it's something she hates doing, because otherwise, she'd rather blow off this booked person (who seriously _books_ prostitutes? Rose immediately thinks) and earn more cash.

As though she understands this, Angela stops and turns to look at Rose. "He's paying you a _lot_ of money for this, dear; it's more than you normally make in a fortnight. So don't blow him off—he's a bit weird, that's what I thought he came by to make the deal, and he doesn't look as though he's done this before—if you want to get some easy cash, alright?"

Rose nods, and they begin to continue their walk around to their new location, passing more of "Angela's girls" on the way, all of whom already know where they're based tonight.

"I'm going to go and get a coffee whilst I wait," Rose says as they pass one of the dingy, run-down cafés that litter this area of London. She's thankful that she put on a full dress today, rather than just the usual leotard and coat, because she's never felt comfortable entering public places dressed like that; this may be her current profession, but since it's swathed in shadows and lack of identity, she's normally well hidden. In cafés, that isn't the case.

"Alright," Angela replies, looking at her nails. "Make sure you're back before ten, though. I wouldn't want him to think you've stood him up, and we lose him as a potential future client."

Rose nods once, to show she understands, before she enters the café and wonders, as she does every night, how the _fuck_ her life has gotten to be like this.

_~x~_

Nine fifty three in the evening rolls around, and Rose sets down her empty coffee cup (it has been for some time; she just hasn't wanted to cough up another ninety pence) before walking out of the café and along the street to where Angela is standing. There's another girl with her, one that Rose recognises as Freya; she's relatively new to this game, newer than Rose is, and yet she's had more clients in a fortnight than Rose normally gets in a month.

"You're early," Angela says, sounding surprised. "I would have thought that you'd have a book tucked away under that dress and would still be sat in there at ten forty, engrossed in it." Her tone makes Rose flush slightly—that's not what she _always_ does; just because she's always been a bookworm doesn't mean that it impacts on her working life—but she ignores the insult within her boss' words.

"No, I didn't bring one—I don't normally," she says, her tone level—more so than she had expected.

There's no response from Angela and so Rose merely stands on the corner, shivering slightly from the slight breeze that seems to have picked up as soon as she stepped outside, and whilst her boss and Freya talk, she begins to think about how her life _could_ have turned out.

Right now, she could be in an apartment that's filled with the top of the range appliances she's always looking at in the shop windows around the capital, writing the next in the series of novels that are never off the bestseller list. She could be wondering what her beautiful boyfriend—no, she's old enough for a husband, now—is cooking for their dinner, then what's on the television for them both to watch (together) before they go to bed and curl up in one another's arms.

On the other hand, she could be back in the wizarding world, working for one of the Ministry's departments—writing's only been something for the Muggle world; in her 'home' world, she had the intention of going into Law Enforcement—and climbing her way up the ladder. She could still be with Scorpius, or maybe she'd have found someone else, and may even be expecting a child.

"ROSE!" Angela hisses, and Rose turns to face her boss, realising, once again, that she's been staring into space and her attention has been wanted elsewhere. "What the hell are you doing? You look like an idiot!"

Only then does Rose realise there's a wide grin on her face, and there may even be a little dribble trickling down her chin, and she wipes both away within seconds; she can't be dreaming of what she _could_ be doing right now, because she isn't, and that's all her fault. She had the chance to be everything, no matter where it was, and she didn't take it. She wanted to make it on her own.

Pity that she's failed, right?

_~x~_

Ten o'clock is soon here, and the nearby church's bells are clanging to alert the public to this fact, and immediately Angela and Rose take a step forwards towards the road, their backs straightening as they do so. Their eyes are pealed, looking for any car approaching on this strangely dead road, but as the watch on Rose's wrist rolls to ten oh one, ten oh two, ten oh three, and even to ten oh seven, she begins to think that it's been a prank and that there isn't really anyone coming.

"Maybe…maybe I was wrong," Angela says finally, though Rose knows that if Angela's given up, she'll be able to pin the blame onto Rose _somehow_. That's what she always does; when there was an issue with one of the clients getting too grabby with Rose, almost at the beginning of her working life, Angela said it was because Rose was leading him on, being rude and basically insinuated that she wasn't anywhere near as high-class as she made out to be.

"Look, if he's not going to turn up, can I get another client?" Rose says, not wanting to sound desperate, but she has to; this man was meant to be a fortnight's wages for her, and instead he's cost her an evening's. She'll have to work on her days off at this rate, and that's not something she exactly relishes doing.

Before her boss can reply, there's a screeching of tires from around the corner, and a black sedan car zooms around the corner, skidding across onto the other side of the road as though the driver doesn't exactly know how to drive it. Rose can see as the car approaches the dimly lit section of the pavement that the car's a BMW, and the number plate tells her that it's less than three months old.

Evidently, this playboy has money to burn.

"That's him!" Angela hisses, though the person isn't exactly able to hear them, and Rose feels her mouth dry up: she's nervous. She doesn't get why—this is what she's done five or six evenings a week for months now, after all—but she supposes it's the fact that she's been requested especially…and they're paying her a _lot_ of money. What if she's not what they want, if she doesn't do things right; is she going to be like one of those they report about on the news, the poor, unfortunate girl found in the red-light district?

"Go!" Angela pushes Rose forwards to the opening door, and once again, the girl realises that she's drifted off into her own world again—or she _was_, before she was being pushed forwards into the car—

—and here, she comes face-to-face with her client for the first time. And it's the biggest surprise in the world.

This man isn't a mystery to her, an enigma that's been consuming her attention for short bursts ever since Angela told her about him; he's someone she spent seven years with—and a little outside of Hogwarts—and someone who she basically promised she'd marry before she disappeared.

Scorpius Malfoy.

"What?" she shouts, but before she can protest, before she can get out of the car or do _anything_ other than stare, he's already got the car into drive and is pulling away, the movement being extremely jerky.

"You may want to put your seatbelt on," he says, grimacing slightly as far as Rose can see in the dim light. "I only got this car last week…and I'm still—_shit_—not entirely sure how to work things," he continues, issuing profanities as he swerves to avoid something in the road.

"You know that I'm not going to have sex with you, right?" Rose says, feeling awkward about it but feeling the need to get it out. "We…dated. That'd just be…weird." _Especially since you're paying_, she mentally adds on, before realising that she's missed out on one of the biggest questions.

WHY IS HE HERE?

She begins to ask this just as Scorpius begins: "Don't ask why I'm here, Rosie, because I'm not going to tell you until we get to a little place I picked out especially for you," is what he says—and that's all it takes for her to not ask the question. Rose has always been aware that once he's made his mind up, there's no changing it…not even if she pleads. "But…you're looking good, Rosie."

"Liar," is all Rose says in response, crossing her arms but doing as he says and buckling up her seatbelt as he rounds a corner and scrapes the side of the car on a pole of some sort. "And one more thing: _don't_ call me Rosie."

All Scorpius does is chuckle. "It's good to see you. I've missed you."

Rose doesn't reply.

_~x~_

They drive for another ten minutes, and Rose is just working up the courage to talk again when they (finally) stop. It feels like forever since she got into the car with him, and she's extremely aware how scantily clad she is, and…and the fact that she's with _Scorpius Malfoy_! He's a part of her life she thought she left behind however many years ago she left her life, and it's so strange for him to now be superimposed on this part of it, the part that she's trying to claw herself out of, and failing, no matter how hard she tries.

The car engine is turned off, and there's complete silence for a few moments, only the sounds of their breathing indicating people are in the car, before Scorpius turns to look at Rose with a slight smile. "Would you like to join me for a spot of supper?" he asks, and it's the strangest request Rose could ever have had. She was expecting a fat, balding man who wanted her to do things he couldn't even manage—and yet here she is, going out with someone she used to date, for _dinner_: and she's getting paid for it.

This feels more like escorting than whoring.

"I…sure?" she says, taking her seatbelt off and stepping out of the car awkwardly, due to the height of her heels. She doesn't remember shutting the door, which is strange, but then again, the shock of seeing her 'client' probably meant that Angela did it and she didn't realise.

That, or it's a magical car that has magic doors—but that's got to be impossible, right?

They're standing outside a small restaurant, a bistro-style one, and Rose can tell somehow that it's empty; they've got the place to themselves. "I booked us a table," Scorpius says, his voice slightly awkward as he speaks, striding towards the building. Rose is thankful that he doesn't try to take her hand or anything, because that would be too reminiscent of the past—this situation is very, _very_ different. "Whilst we're in there, I thought we'd cover what's happened since you left and how I found you, then later, we can discuss what you're going to do and whether or not…you need anything." his voice is quiet by the end, and even though she knows that she should be irritated with his attempts to control her life—as he did before, though she thought it was endearing then—she can't be.

All he's doing is caring about her—and whilst she's spent years squashing her true feelings, she can't deny that this is all she's wanted. It's just caring from the wrong person.

Hesitantly, Rose enters the building before Scorpius, the latter holding the door open for her, and as he does, Rose notices that the light reflects off his hair, casting an almost halo around his head. But she instantly averts her eyes and instead focuses on not tripping on the uneven floor inside, before then making her way to her seat.

He allows her an entire minute of silence to gather her thoughts, to allow the suppressed memories of the Wizarding world to return to their former glory in the forefront of her mind, no matter how hazy some of them are getting (but the clarity of most of them surprise Rose) before he's straight in on the questions.

Unfortunately for him, so is Rose: and her fiery temper has been reawakened by someone who used to fuel it more than anyone else in their entire world.

"Why are you doing _this_ to yourself?" he asks just as she demands, "_Why_ are you here?"

They stare at each other for a full five seconds, her hazel eyes meeting his grey-blue coloured ones, and then they both let out a deliberate breath.

"I thought that we're going to cover—" he begins, before Rose cuts in on him.

"No, we're not going to cover what I've missed because that'll hurt too much!" she hisses, keeping her voice low so that nobody working will realise there's an altercation occurring. "You're the one who cornered _me_, Scorpius, not the other way around! As far as you're aware, I could be perfectly content with my life, with no need for a knight in shining armour to burst in to my rescue!"

"Could." Of course, Scorpius picks up on the conditional nature of Rose's statement, his eyes boring into hers. "You're not happy, Rosie, I can see it in your face. You don't want this for yourself. After all, who runs away from everything to have this, absolutely nothing, not even…" he trails off, and Rose gets the feeling that he's stopped himself saying something derogatory towards her trade.

She knows; everyone has the look of pity in their eyes when they hear of what she does, and she knows she used to have it, too, for those who worked the streets. Until she became one, that is.

"So, let's begin," Rose says, pretending to study the menu as the waiter tries to come over. "Why are you here, Scorpius? Who sent you?"

There are a few moments that pass in which she can tell Scorpius is gathering his story together, and she's thankful for all those hours they spent together in Hogwarts, because she can see when he's lying. If he's stupid enough to even try…

"I missed you," he says finally, and Rose permits herself a glance down at his left hand, fourth finger. Ringless—but that means nothing; most men don't like wedding rings. "I…it's been _years_ and you've still not bothered to get in touch. Your absence has hurt so many people, and it's _still_ hurting them, and there's nothing anyone can do—because they wanted to respect your wishes and not try and find you."

Rose smiles slightly, a sad smile, one that she doesn't think reaches her eyes as she looks back at the man across from her. "But you didn't listen, did you?" she says quietly, a note of betrayal to her tone. "You, the one I thought would listen, didn't keep to what I asked. You ignored it."

And then Scorpius is shaking his head, and it's confusing Rose, because he _did_ break her rules, she knows he did! "You said not to use _magic_ to find you," he says, and she realises what he's done: he's found the loophole, just like he does in everything. No wonder she always said he was going to make a great Wizenagamot Chief some day. "And I didn't, I swear it, Rosie! I respected your wishes for a long, _long_ time…but a couple of years ago, it became too much for me.

"I missed you. Years and years passed and you weren't coming back, that much was obvious, but you wouldn't leave my mind. I tried dating other people, but nobody compared to you—you were the baseline for everything, and nothing would compare, so it got shoved to the side—and then I began to try and work out what you could be doing. It wasn't a conscious effort at first, just something I did after a couple of Firewhiskey shots on an evening, but then I began to piece together all the bits and pieces of your personality that didn't seem to stand out to me before—but they did then.

"You were in the Muggle world, that much was obvious from your note; where else could you be if you weren't at home? You had referenced something to do with writing before, so I took a few weeks off work to search through all the staff of the papers and magazines in London…but there was nothing."

Before he can continue his explanation, Rose has a quick question. "How did you know I'd still be in London, though?" it's a valid question, given that there's been a world at her feet and she could have left the country—or even just the county—at any point.

His smile scares her slightly; it's a knowing one, one that suggests to her that he knows more about her than she'd care for him to, especially now she's out of his world for good. "You've always liked to be close to home, Rosie," he says, continuing even though she tries to interrupt him. "Ok, ok, I know you lived in Suffolk, but I mean the world you left behind; you've got Diagon Alley in London, and the train to Hogwarts—I always knew that you would never leave."

Just as he's about to launch back into his story of how he's found her, the waiter comes over to take their order, and Rose orders the first thing she sees on the menu: garlic chicken and rice. She half hopes he leans in to kiss her, because he'll get the full force of her garlic breath, before she stops this thought; she isn't with Scorpius any longer. Their worlds are eons apart, now.

"How did you find me, though?" she whispers as soon as their server has left them. "I mean, it's quite obvious that I'm not working for The Times, or anything like that, isn't it?" she lets out a slight laugh, its sound distorted by her nervousness, and she takes a sip of the water in front of her to clear her throat.

He shakes his head. "No, you're not," he says, and he averts his eyes from her—but not quickly enough. Rose can tell that he's saddened due to the situation he's found her in, the way that she's not had the chance to live out her dream; she's like so many of the others who run away to London (or, in her case, to the Muggle side of London) falling into something they don't want to do because they miss out on their dreams for all sorts of reasons.

"Then how?" she presses, resisting the urge to reach out and take his hand to _make_ him tell her by wrapping both of hers around her water glass.

"You won a writing competition in one of the little Gazettes three months ago, for which you won three hundred pounds and the opportunity to write an in-depth analysis on your life, which would then be published," he answers immediately. "It told me your name and your postcode, and that's what confirmed it was you—your name. Something about the entry, it reminded me of you…but I wasn't sure. The name confirmed it, though…obviously."

"I…but why not come to my house?" she asks, wondering why her former beau insisted on coming and finding her like _this_, in the most humiliating of states: someone forced to give people what they want, for money. That's basically what every job is, really, but there's something more degrading about _this_ line of work than writing for one of the country's best papers.

"You wouldn't have let me in," he tells her, and she realises that she's right. "The day you left, I knew that you wouldn't want us to find you and then to hunt you down…and when I found out this is where you work…I had to come."

Their food arrives and Rose manages to spend a good ten minutes in silence, pretending to be too focused on consuming her meal carefully to allow for conversation. But when her plate is clear and her glass is empty, it's time for her to make a decision: does she want Scorpius in her life, a link to her past, or does she want him to leave and never come back?

It was hard enough the first time, to leave him; can she do it again?

"I…take me back," she says quietly, looking down at her plate. "Please, Scorpius. Don't try and talk to me anymore; I know everything you're going to say, and I don't want you to say it."

He doesn't argue, merely stands up and escorts her back to the car after leaving the correct amount of cash plus a tip on the table, but Rose has a feeling that he's going to try and talk to her on the way back to the street corner.

They drive in silence, besides for Scorpius issuing profanities every few minutes as he almost hits something, and Rose considers her options, trying to make a decision, but each time she thinks she's decided what she'll do, another memory comes back of times he's held her in his arms, and she's unable to cement in her mind that she's going to make him leave and never come back.

Finally, they pull up where he picked her up from, almost seventy five minutes ago, and Rose hesitates; here's the place for her to tell him what she wants. "I want you to leave now," she says firmly, shifting around to face him. "Please, Scorpius, if you want me to be happy, don't tell my parents what I'm doing, where I am; it would destroy them. It's already destroying me…and I've broken them already. I don't want to do it again."

He nods slowly, gravely, and reaches into a compartment just in front of where Rose is sitting. His skin almost brushes against hers, and it's all Rose can do not to react to his touch, as she did in their shared past, because they're _not_ together; she's a slut and he's a client, for all intents and purposes. That's all. They've become this, and this is what they shall remain to be forevermore.

"Take this," he says, shoving an envelope stuffed full of cash at her. "Don't worry, it's not mine, I'm not giving you money for spending the evening with you; it's yours. Now, you can say that you don't want anything from the world you left behind, but you need this money, so take it. Please, Rose." There's something about his expression that makes her move her hand to take the money of its own accord, and Rose has to blink once, twice, three times to try and blur out his expression because she's scared that there are too many emotions on it that will cause her to forget her resolve.

"I…goodbye, Scorpius," she says, unbuckling her belt and opening the door. She's pleasantly surprised that he hasn't tried to tell her to come back to their world—_his_ world, now—and that he hasn't even tried to dissuade from what she's doing. It's not like she's enjoying it, though, so maybe (hopefully) he can tell. "Don't say anything."

"I l—" he begins to say, ignoring her request for him to keep his trap shut, and so Rose quickly slams the door before she can hear the word _love_, because that would destroy her resolve.

"Goodbye, Scor," she whispers to herself, watching as the car screeches away from the kerb and disappears around the corner, a shadow blurring into obscurity. "I'll miss you."

Something tells her that this is goodbye forever—at least, she hopes.

"How was it?" Angela asks immediately, pouncing on Rose, and before she can see the thickness of the wad of cash, Rose hides it in her purse. It's dark enough for the older woman not to have seen anything, and for this, Rose is grateful; she doesn't want the woman getting any of her money. Especially as it's _her_ money.

"I…not bad," she says, lying through her teeth. It was the most wonderful, yet most awful hour and a quarter of her life, because all the memories are stirring up from her past, and Rose isn't sure if she'll be able to hide them again. "He said he'd pay me next time he sees me—but I don't know when that is." She makes something up about money and payments, not sure of the words she's saying, just aware that they're covering up the issue that Angela's only ever interested in.

"Very well," Angela says, her tone somewhat colder than it was before, and begins to walk away. "I'll see you Monday, the usual place. Got it?"

Rose nods, not bothering to speak as she walks away from the corner, wrapping her arms around her body to try and keep in some of the warmth lost from just being in Scorpius' company. She wishes that she could forget him, push him out of her head like she's (almost) managed to do for nine years.

Unfortunately, she can't.

_~x~_

A few days pass, and Rose doesn't have to go to 'work', so instead, she begins work on handing out more CVs; she's desperate for any type of job, preferably in something to do with the journalism world, but she'll work anywhere. Literally.

Anything is better than what she does now.

Rose sits in her living room and counts the money: nine thousand pounds. That's enough for her to live on for almost a year, if her calculations are correct, but what then? She knows that she can't blow all the money now—that wouldn't be practical, and it would be wasteful—so with a heavy heart, she puts two thirds of it into a high-interest ISA, something that'll give her a ridiculous amount of money in a year's time; that's her planning for the future.

The rest of the money she uses to stock up her fridge, to get the odds and ends jobs needing to be done around her home completed, and enrols on GCSE English and Maths course at the local college, just so that she's getting the basic Muggle qualifications to be able to work anywhere that's a) legal and b) got the opportunity to be promoted. They're on Mondays, 9am-2pm, Wednesdays, 9:30am-3pm and Saturdays, 1pm-4:30pm, and Rose has a feeling that she'll be able to complete the exams a lot quicker than everyone else in the class.

Given that the booklet she was given had "IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU'RE ALREADY ON FOR A GRADE" on the front, she's almost certain it'll take her no time at all.

It's Monday day time and she's scared about going back to work, because what if Scorpius turns up? She doesn't know if he's going to try and contact her again—they didn't finish off the conversation, really—and if he's there…she doesn't know what she'll do. _This_ is her life now, this mess of attempting to claw herself out of a pit and spending nights doing things she'd rather never think about again, and Scorpius is part of who she was before, when she was Rose Weasley, witch extraordinaire—something she hasn't been for quite some time.

No matter how much she can avoid thinking of him, of home, when she's awake, when she's slumbering that's all she can think of; Scorpius and herself, dancing through one of Hogwarts' fields, their lips locking together…the way that he had to spend an entire three hours placating her father to make him believe that he wasn't going to try and throw her off the San Francisco bridge on their first date (to this day, Rose doesn't know where her dad got that idea from) and then finally persuading him by yelling the words, "I think I love her, alright?!"

It's reaching the point where she's considering phoning Angela and making up some crap about her head feeling as though it's about to explode, when the phone rings.

"Speak of the devil," Rose mutters, pressing the green button to answer the phone. "Hey, Angela. What can I do for you today?"

"I'm ringing to inform you that your client from the other night has requested your company again," she says, her voice a mixture of excitement and irritation. "I don't see why he'd want _you, _with your cleavage—" Rose looks down at her chest and flushes, "but he does, so you're to meet him at Trafalgar Square at eight pm. And he said for you to wear something nice—I'd take that to mean the lace underwear, not your usual leather…"

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, then," Rose replies, her mind already focused on the question: does she go? She could get away with not going, if she doesn't have to meet him via Angela…but could she hurt him like that?

"Before you go," Angela says quickly, sensing that Rose was about to hang up. "We need to discuss how much you're giving me of your payment—for orchestrating this meeting."

"We'll discuss this another time," Rose says, for the first time being able to call the shots, to an extent. "I've got to go…go get ready." And with that, she hangs up the phone.

Burying her head in her hands, Rose begins to panic; does she stay, or does she go? Does she let Scorpius think that he's got a chance of dragging her back to the wizarding world by making her fall in love with him all over again…or does she just stay away and hope that he gets the message?

She could go…she could go and tell him that it's over, that they're nothing with this new, whorish version of herself, and that there's absolutely no chance that she's going back. At least then she could feel certain that she had closure, and ensure that he never comes back to darken her doorstep (figuratively speaking) again.

Slowly, Rose stands up and moves towards the bathroom. She wants to look her best tonight, for whatever reason.

(She _definitely_ doesn't consider the idea that she's still completely, irrevocably in love with him.)

_~x~_

She's a couple of minutes early to their meeting point, standing at the statue in the Square, and she suddenly begins to get nervous; is she doing the right thing? Will she be able to spend a night with him and not get drawn back into thinking that they've got a future together? After all, she's the one who left the world of magic, the one who felt the pressures get too much for her to ever be able to handle, not him. He belongs there, Scorpius Malfoy, the golden prince of the newest generation of of-age wizards—she doesn't.

"Hello, Rosie," he says, his voice coming from behind her, and Rose jumps involuntarily. "You're looking beautiful tonight."

Rose blushes as she turns around to face Scorpius, before she remembers that this _isn't_ a date, and that she isn't going out with him—this is a paid thing. "Scorpius, I need to tell you something—" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"Look, I know what _you're _going to say, and can it wait until we've eaten?" he asks, already beginning to walk—and Rose feels the need to walk with him. "I am absolutely famished—some goblins decided…never mind—and I think that we should at least have a full belly before you tell me that you're happier without magic and that you don't need me in your life."

Rose has to smile at this, despite herself. The man knows her too well.

"Alright," she replies. "But we're having pizza—no argument."

_~x~_

Once they're as full as they can be, Rose decides that she has to start. "I…thank you for this," she says as Scorpius insists on paying the whole bill prior to them walking out of the restaurant. "But, this is it. I can't see you anymore."

He smiles and begins a lazily paced stroll, headed down towards the pond in the park to their left. "I knew you'd say that, so tell me: why? What, do I remind you too much of magic?"

"Yes," she replies, her voice sad. "I miss you, but this is my life now, a world free of the constraints and expectations that were placed on me because of who I was born, and the way that I conducted myself. And I can't let my worlds get mixed up any more than they already have; it's not right. I had a life and I abandoned it in favour of this one—I can't be _that_ far off making it, can I?"

Scorpius stops suddenly, turning towards Rose and reaching out for her. His touch sends sparks racing through Rose and _this_ is what she wanted to avoid—the feeling that he always brought about, the one that makes her want to drop everything and just kiss him. "Tell me something, Rosie. Do you miss magic?"

"Don't call me Rosie!" she snaps, before realising that he's been calling her it the entire time they've been together, and besides for the first time, she hasn't commented. "But…yes. I miss having my wand and a magic fix to everything—I have to get electricians in now to fix things, and I still don't understand how to plug in this new washing machine, and it's more than that. I miss the feeling that magic brought about in me, this ability to be good at something, and to always have a way out of things…but I can't have that. I couldn't take my wand, because then my mum and dad would have thought that I was maybe going back, and that hope would have destroyed them, in the end."

Scorpius nods slowly and releases Rose's wrist. "So you're telling me that even though you still love me—and I can see it in your eyes, Rose, so don't lie to me—you're going to abandon me because you want to live your life as a Muggle with no wizards whatsoever?" he confirms, his voice colder than before. "Why? You're a witch, even though you're trying to forget that part of your life, but that's something you can't remove from your DNA! I could live with you, go to work in the Ministry and you could still do your writing, and then we could be _happy_, together, in this world."

She shakes her head, and with that one movement, she sees all the hope leave Scorpius' eyes. "I can't do that, Scor. I'm sorry. You're right, I'm a witch and if I could do magic just for _me_, that'd be fine—but I can't go and get a wand now, can I? You are—you _were_—everything to me, but I can't ask you to leave the wizarding world for me. I can't. That would be selfish."

She reaches up and runs her hand along his cheek once, for old time's sake, and tries to pretend that tears aren't blurring her vision. "I can't let you do that for me—I won't. So goodbye, Scorpius."

And with that, she walks away.

And he doesn't follow.

(She wishes he does, though, and she even slows down her pace just before she rounds the corner. The crack she hears tells her that he's given up, Disapparated already, though, so she tries to pretend to herself that she wasn't expecting him to chase.)

* * *

Ok, so the second part of this will be up relatively soon.

Please **don't** favourite or alert without reviewing, thank you.

Reviewers will get a sneak preview of the second part, so please review!


	2. Part Two

Ok, so this is the second part to my 350th fic, and I hope you enjoy it.

I was originally planning on updating on my birthday (tomorrow) but I realised that I may be busy, so have it today!

Dedicated to anyone at **RoseScorpius Fans** (Forum) which any self-respecting Scorrose fan should be part of. :D

* * *

Weeks pass from when Rose left Scorpius (again) and after a day or two off, citing period pains as the reason why she couldn't work, Rose is back on the corner, getting picked up by clients as usual—no Scorpius, though.

Angela doesn't believe that he didn't give her any money at Trafalgar Square, even though it's the truth, and when he doesn't reply to her phone calls, she admits defeat, saying that Rose was a stupid girl for not taking the money on the first night—but Rose doesn't care. She was an idiot for going back out with him when all she wanted to do was to get on with this new life…and there's no going back to it, now.

Even when she's writing essays for the classes she's taking, she can only think of Scorpius, and soon she's unable to sleep, tossing and turning and only thinking of his face in that moment she told him that she couldn't be with him: it's so clear in her mind that it seems like only yesterday, when in fact, it's already been almost three weeks.

Things seem to keep on breaking in her flat, and soon, the money runs out; she's been working less than usual due to the exam pressure—she's finishing her GCSE English in only another three weeks, in time for the November exam season, and she's trying to ensure that she knows enough of the correct literary terms to be able to pass it with the best grade—and anyway, Angela's not been so keen on her ever since the client issue. Whenever her boss tries to discuss the client's details, Rose clams up, so now, Angela knows not to bother—she just doesn't trust Rose any more.

Rose can't blame her.

She's become even more of a mess, dreaming of magic, finding herself thinking of the spell she'd use to clean the dishes, the spell she'd use to get the knot out of her hair, and even the one that would repaint the flaking ceiling in her bedroom. Rose realises just how much she misses everyday magic, not just the spells that would save her in a fight, but the magic that makes witches and wizards' lives easier to manage; who needs electricians and plumbers when there's a spell that can fix it?

Some days, she finds her feet taking her in the direction of Diagon Alley and she has to stop herself getting within two hundred metres of the Leaky Cauldron; if she was any closer, she'd run in and her disappearance would be no more. She can't go back there, to a world where she doesn't fit in any longer, and a world filled with things that made her want to leave in the first place.

_Muggle_ London is her home now. And so, unless someone brings her a wand, no magic will be used—no magic _can_ be used.

The desire to cast a spell, however, doesn't leave Rose, and she finds herself holding her pens as wands, pretending to levitate things into the air. They don't work, though; her magic isn't strong enough any longer to do spells without a wand, so nothing will move.

One day, she comes home from the college, the night before her exams, to find that she's been left a parcel at the door of her flat.

Intrigued, she picks it up and walks inside, the parcel in her hands, and winces as the door's shutting causes another piece of the plaster to fall off the wall; the place is falling apart, just like Rose's mind.

Rose quickly opens the package to discover a note, and…a wand. _Her_ wand.

Scorpius.

He knows where she lives, and he's given her the wand she had from eleven years old—and that scares her. Though, somehow, Rose manages to make herself calm down long enough to read the note:

_I don't know where you live; I had to use magic to send you it.  
Sorry.  
Don't bin your wand; use it—even just to cast the one spell you want to._

_Yours forever_

_Scorpius _

Rose can't help but let a tear fall from her eye as she realises just _how_ much she misses Scorpius Malfoy.

_~x~_

Life goes on, and soon, Rose has taken her English GCSE and half of her Maths one, and she's just starting on something to do with Science, because apparently everyone wants all the core subjects passed, but she's managing a bit better now. She's still limiting her use of magic to one or two spells a week—more than that would basically be admitting she wants to go back to a world she's not sure about—yet she doesn't have to spend her money on maintenance men or repairs, so the only outgoings she has are rent and food. Clothes can be mended, appearances can be magically changed, and with the knowledge her ISA is accessible in only six more months, Rose feels as though things may _finally_ be looking up for her.

But it's not.

She's missing Scorpius and her family more and more as every evening passes, and it's getting harder for Rose to resist writing a letter to her parents' house and explaining everything that's gone on—or even just _going_ there, now she can Apparate once again—because she _swore_ that she wouldn't bring her parents into this. She can't…at least not until she's got a decent job and is getting on with her life. One thing they can never know is about this…this blip on the radar that's lasted over a year now—prostitution isn't something the Potter-Weasleys would exactly endorse, and even though they'd support her, Rose knows that they'd always look at her with pity in their eyes.

She's in this on her own.

The one contact she has with Scorpius is a quick Patronus message—all the range with the younger generation, it being the equivalent of a Muggle text message—where she says, _thanks for the wand_, and watches as the eagle flies out of the window. It's not long before he's sent a reply, saying, _no problem, I figured you would need it…here's my mobile number—the person in the shop told me that's what it's called; I didn't pay attention in Muggle Studies—so if you ever want to talk to me…you have the choice._

She couldn't _not_ write down the number, but deliberately puts it in a notebook in her bag, rather than in her phone's address book, just so that if she gets the urge to call him, it'll take a longer time to find the number, then dial it in, so she can decide if she _really_ wants to talk to him. It's the only solution she can find, because the idea to dispose of the number and never, ever call Scorpius is alien to Rose. It's something that she can't do, no matter how much she wants to separate her lives again.

Now that he's given her the wand—now he's been in her life, really—Rose doesn't think that she can go back to the life she was building before; it's got to be a mix of wizards and Muggles. She realises now that it was stupid for her to cut everything out of her life, because it's not only herself she's damaged, but her entire family, and Scorpius, too; she doesn't know what's gone on whatsoever, and that hurts. Lucy could have given in to her drug addiction, Victoire and Teddy could have actually tied the knot, and Dom may have managed to admit that she loves Katie Ford—but Rose doesn't know.

And she won't know.

There's no going back to a wizarding life, but there's also no going back to the blissful (almost) eradication of magic from her life; the wand in her possession is proof of that, at least. This strange, eclectic mixture of the two is certainly something she never considered before—it's just deciding what is enough to take from both worlds that's the issue.

Yet she holds her strength and, somehow, manages to resist calling Scorpius. Rose thinks that having him in her life is just too much of a step towards magic for now—when she has a good job, maybe. But not until she's got enough to give him as he has to give her.

_~x~_

Then, one day, it transpires that Rose needs to ring him.

"Rose Weasley, you are under arrest for solicitation," one of the officers arresting her says, cuffing her wrists behind her back. "You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you say may be given in evidence." He reads Rose her rights before pushing her into the back of the police van, her bag still tied around her wrist.

She was standing on the corner, with Angela and Georgia, one of the new girls, when all of a sudden, a police car rounded the corner. There was no escape, at least for Rose—heels aren't exactly practical for running in—and so that's how she's came to be locked in the back of a police van with Angela, and another girl she recognises from a different corner, who goes by the name of Sweet Sally.

Rose doubts that's her real name, but the way that she snapped at Rose when they were on the same side of the street a few weeks back makes her scared to ask the girl any questions.

And so they're transported to the nearest police station, Rose wondering whether or not it'll look strange for her to have a piece of wood in her bag—she definitely doesn't have the ability to cast a spell on those holding her, due to the CCTV cameras that will undoubtedly litter the building, and that's a bummer.

Processing takes less time than Rose would have thought, being a stage where she has to hand over her personal belongings and give her information to one of the members of staff in the room.

"The system's down; put all the information there and Lucy will process it tomorrow morning," one of the more senior officers says to the man taking Rose's name. "And give them all their phone call—we've got the Governor coming tomorrow and I don't want there to be riff-raff hanging around."

Rose's cheeks colour at the thought of being deemed 'riff-raff' and she's about to say that she's the daughter of Ron and Hermione Weasley, who live in a mansion-sized house in Surrey, before she recalls that she's been caught, dressed as a prostitute, trying to get clients to sleep with. She isn't classy; she's the scum London Council want to try and get rid of.

She's nobody, if you look at the big picture.

"I…I have the number in a notebook in my bag—I can't remember it—so can I just take a look?" she asks the man she's standing with, flashing him a smile. "Please, sir…he's the only person I can call; he's the only person I have," she presses when he doesn't look as though he's going to let her look in the bag.

Finally, his face softens. "Have the bag back for a minute," he says, handing her it. "Get the number—and get it quickly. The boss is tetchy tonight."

Rose doesn't say anything, merely begins digging in her bag for the book, thankful that she put the number in here because if she hadn't, she'd be trapped in here until her ISA matured and she could get the money out herself.

She finds the number and dials it, putting the book back into the bag and handing it back to the officer—PC Johnson, she sees—with a smile of thanks.

And she waits.

The phone rings and rings, almost at the answerphone message by the time Scorpius answers. "Hello?" he says sleepily, evidently not recognising the number. "I…I did answer this, right?"

Rose has to laugh; he has no idea how to use it, evidently, and she supposes that she's lucky that he actually _did_ answer it. Something tells her that the one phone call rule holds.

"Yes it did," she replies, suddenly nervous. Her hands start to sweat and she almost drops the receiver. "It's me, Scorpius. I'm in trouble—I need some help."

Scorpius suddenly sounds wide awake. "Rose, is that you? Where are you?"

"I'm down at the police station near to Trafalgar Square," she says slowly. "And I need you to bail me out—please, Scorpius. I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate."

"I'll be there in ten minutes," Scorpius responds, hanging up the phone as soon as he finishes speaking, though Rose has a feeling that this is an entirely accidental coincidence.

"Thank you," is what she says to the police constable who's standing with her as she makes her call. "You helped me and you didn't need to—thank you."

He doesn't say anything in response as he leads her to a holding cell, where she waits for Scorpius, her hands balled into fists as she tries to calm herself down. It's only been a few months since she told him to never bother her again, and even less since he gave her back her wand, and the entire time she's been dreaming of him. And now she needs him, like _literally_ needs him.

This time, Rose isn't sure if she has the ability to send Scorpius away, if she can stop herself being selfish and wanting him in her life.

_~x~_

He's there before she can even begin to properly process what's happened and what she's going to do when she's free, signing the forms to get her released and handing over the bail money.

"Make the sheet with my name on it disappear—it's in that pile," Rose whispers to Scorpius as she hugs him. His smile is incandescent as he sees her, and Rose feels something in her stomach; it feels as though it's been merely minutes and yet eons since she last saw him, and that's strange enough in itself. "And Scorpius, thank you."

He smiles again, wider if that could be possible. "I told you, Rosie, I'll do anything for you—whenever you need me, I'll be there." These words only serve to confirm something that she's been trying to dissuade herself from believing: Scorpius Malfoy is still completely, one hundred percent in love with her, just as she is with him, and he's not going to give up. He's been around for ten years that he could have spent with someone else, just waiting for her; he found her when nobody else did—he's in this for the long haul.

She smiles and breaks apart from him, taking her bag from the PC who took it from her before moving to the door to breathe in the early morning breeze. Scorpius joins her a few moments later, tucking a piece of paper into his jacket that she presumes to be her information.

"I'm afraid that I could only Apparate over here, as I was back in Surrey, so we can either do that to get back to your flat or we could try and get a taxi," he says, sounding apologetic, but Rose shakes her head. Even though it's late—or early, depending on how you look at it—there are still little cafés open all over the place, and Rose spies one almost one hundred metres away.

"Let's go for a coffee—my treat, since I need to repay you for doing that for me," she says quietly, beginning to walk over there, Scorpius hot on her heels.

"You don't owe me anything," he says just as quietly as they enter the shop.

They order their drinks and take them from the sleepy looking waitress, taking a seat in the furthest away corner so that they've got less chance of being overheard, and then Rose speaks.

"You saved me—again," she murmurs, and Scorpius laughs. "Wait, what are you laughing at? It's not _funny_!"

"Sorry," is Scorpius' response, still chuckling. "But you're being a little overdramatic, Rosie; you were in jail, not exactly in a death camp waiting to fight to the death."

"That's a Hunger Games reference…oh wait, you don't know what that is, never mind," she begins on a Hunger Games discussion, but then notices a blank look passing over his face and she realises that it was merely a coincidence. "No, but if you hadn't been there to release me, I wouldn't have gotten out! And it would have looked a little suspicious on the CCTV if I got out a piece of wood and then started blasting myself out, wouldn't it?"

He smiles and nods. "I guess you're right, as usual," he says, taking a sip of his drink. "Well, where does this leave us? I'm supposing that you're going to thank me again and then tell me to piss off and go back to doing whatever idiotic and boring thing I was doing before you called, right?"

She hesitates. "No," Rose says finally, her eyes on the table rather than looking at Scorpius. "I don't want that, Scorpius. Things are still so confused and I think that I need to be distant from the wizarding world _still_, at least until I get a decent job, but…I need you. You're the one who helped me here, the one who started the process of saving me—and I love you."

She didn't mean to say the final three words, they just sort of popped out, but she can't take them back now, and slowly, Rose raises her gaze to meet the man's sitting opposite her; he looks dumbfounded.

Then, after what seems like an age, Scorpius replies, "I love you, too. I've loved you every day since you left, without doubt." She doesn't doubt him; there's something in his tone that makes Rose believe him.

They both take a sip of their drink at the same time, Rose working out just how this can work; she needs to keep him distant until she gets her job and is settled in wherever she gets to, and then…then she can get close to him and hopefully (possibly) get the chance to be in contact with her family again after her self-imposed separation.

"I need to finish my education first before we're anything," she says suddenly, looking up from the table once again. "I've taken some exams to give me qualifications to try and get a job, and if I pass, I can get straight out into the job market," she clarifies, noting that her mention of getting an education confused Scorpius.

"Ahh…how long will that take?" he asks, reaching out for her hand, which she lets him take without an issue. "But Rose, seriously, we need to talk about…about this. About what you've been through."

Anger surges through Rose, even though she knows it's not rational, and she snatches her hand back from Scorpius as though he's made it burn. "_We_ don't need to talk about anything!" she snaps. "You found me, for which I'm grateful, you know I am, but we don't need to talk about it. _Really_, we don't need to talk about it."

"But, Rose, you've been with people for _money_," he presses, and Rose has to suppress a laugh: Scorpius really doesn't get that she doesn't want to talk about it, does he? "I know that I have no idea what it must have been like, but…but I want to help you with it."

She stands up, her eyes blazing with anger, her entire frame shaking and she sets the cup down on the table with such force that the liquid inside sloshes onto the table. "We don't need to discuss _anything_!" she yells. "I'm going to go now, and I'm going to go and get some sleep before my final exam in a couple of days, and then I'm going to pass and get a job and maybe _then_ I'll call you…if you can stop being such a prejudiced, pretentious bastard, that is!"

She stalks towards the door at this point, ignoring all the words yelled after her, and when she feels Scorpius' presence at her back, she slips the heels off and breaks out into a run, heading straight out in front of the traffic. Cars swerve to avoid her, their horns beeping in outrage at her jumping right in front of them, but Rose just shoots them the finger, trying desperately to try and get as far away from Scorpius as possible.

As she runs, Rose realises that she's in the wrong and that he didn't actually say anything wrong; sure, he was a bit pushy, but if he had been in her position, she would have wanted him to know that he had the chance to talk to her whenever he wanted to. And he wasn't being a pretentious or prejudiced; she had just chosen those adjectives and decided that they fitted the insult—but, really, they didn't, and she's just pushed him away.

Her pride will stop her speaking to him until she's got something to show for her endeavours in the classroom, until he has hopefully forgotten about the horrors she's been putting herself through for fourteen or so months. She doubts he will, and it'll be a struggle in the future to stop herself reacting like this.

Rose is just going to have to stop herself contacting Scorpius until she's gotten everything she wanted to achieve in the Muggle world—everything besides a boyfriend.

_~x~_

After that night, Rose quits the 'business'; she doesn't want to have to explain to Angela how she managed to avoid even getting a blot on her record, let alone a court hearing, and anyway, she's done with this part of her life. It was only meant to be temporary and it's already lasted for far too long—when she thinks about it, she feels sick about what she's done, so Rose tries not to think.

She also rips the page out of her notebook that has Scorpius' number on it, burning it with the tip of her wand and watching as the cinders get swept up by her magical sweeping brush; it's burnt into her mind now, the eleven digits, and she's not going to forget them—unfortunately. She doesn't need a physical reminder that he's out there, waiting for her, does she?

Rose tries to give herself a fresh start; she charms the walls to be a different colour, she redesigns the furniture to be fitting for a twenty-something year old rather than being the cheapest things in the charity shop. The only thing she struggles to buy is food, given that she can't charm it into existence due to some law her parents tried to teach her about, and with her lack of income, it's a bit of an issue to survive, sometimes, but Rose buys things that she can multiply and store in the cupboard for a long time, so it's fine.

She's living less of a Muggle and more of a magical life every day that passes, and sometimes that irritates her to the point that she wants to throw her wand away, but she doesn't; if she did, then she would be back to square one, with a flat that she can't afford and no food in the fridge, and that's something she can't face.

The time flies, Rose spending every possible second in the college, taking classes designed for people almost half her age, but she doesn't care; it's interesting to learn the Muggle opinion of so many things, to question ideas that she was taught in Muggle Studies and to learn what chemistry and Muggle history is.

She takes exams in everything she's studied and it's an anxious two months' wait to get the results, but she finally does, and they're all something called an A*, a grade she equates to an O in her world's exams.

"Well done!" one of her professors—_teachers_, she reminds herself for the thousandth time—says, reaching out to give her a hug. "Since you're officially no longer a student and we're both single, would you like to go out for a drink with me?" he asks, and Rose hesitates for a second: he's handsome, gorgeous, and if Scorpius didn't exist, there'd be no question about it.

But he does. She still loves him with all her heart, even if she hasn't spoken to him for another three months now, and she knows that it can't be long before she's got a job and feeling as though she's right to call him into her life.

She's not just doing this because she was mad at him—she knows that she was wrong to be so judgemental about his reasoning for saying what he did, and why he did it—but because she doesn't want to be dragging him into a life which isn't perfect. Or, at least, liveable; she wants him to enter her life when she's emotionally ready to have someone to be with for life, rather than someone to help her pick up the pieces of her shattered one.

Rose wants someone who can take her home to her parents and for them to be happy, neither of them embarrassed about the other's life, and that can't happen until she has a respectable job doing something that doesn't involve removing one's clothes: journalism.

"I'm sorry, but I can't," Rose says finally, realising that her teacher is waiting for an answer—she's drifted into her own world again. "I've been in love with someone for fifteen years, and only now do I think that I deserve him. Thank you for everything, though," she continues, noting how Mr Finch's face falls at the mention of her being in love with someone.

Rose runs from the college site, the results in her hand, and she heads straight for The Times' headquarters; that was the paper Scorpius referenced that first night in Muggle London together, and that's where she wants to start her hunt.

She doesn't know how long it will take. All she knows is that she hopes that soon, she'll be worthy of someone as whole as Scorpius Malfoy.

_~x~_

Three weeks later, and she has an internship at The Times; it's not paying a lot more than her old occupation was, but at least it's legal and it's a foot in the door, which is something more than she had this time last year. All she does is photocopy and make drinks, but sometimes they let her proofread the articles before they get sent to be printed, and once, when every single journalist was either out of the country or busy, they let her write a 300 word review of one of the up-and-coming artist's albums. It was in the back of the paper, just before the sports and after the sex advice column, but it was something, and Rose has her article framed on a wall.

She just doesn't know how to approach getting Scorpius back.

Thirty four times now, she's tried to call him, just to chicken out before she's dialled the last digit, and thirty four times she's chastised herself for being such a chicken. It's as though she has a block in her mind saying that she can't contact him, because she pushed him away, and no matter what, she can't fight past it—and that worries Rose. She needs to prove herself so much that maybe she's not ever going to think that she's enough for Scorpius.

One day, however, it comes that she needs him.

Again.

It's ten pm on a Sunday night and the entire journalism team bar the printers have gone home, ready to get back to writing articles and columns tomorrow, and Rose is just finishing off some work she was meant to do earlier that day, but forgot, when she slips.

And, unfortunately, she slips from a height of about two metres, onto a concrete floor, her leg, naturally, getting trapped under a pile of papers that just happen to fall to the floor as she does.

It feels broken, or at least sprained, and Rose doesn't think she can get it out of the papers without damaging it further, and her wand is in her bag, which is three floors down from where she is.

All she has is her phone.

All she has is one number.

"Hello?" Scorpius' voice answers the phone, sounding just as it did that night in the jail: sleepy, as though he's about to head to bed.

"Hi, um, Scorpius?" she says hesitantly, suddenly worried that he's moved on and doesn't care about her any longer and is now with someone called Julie and expecting a baby called Julian—her mind begins to ramble. "It's Rose…"

"Rose!" he says, his voice instantly perking up, making Rose hope that her imagination has just been running wild with her. "What…what can I do for you?" he's hesitant all of a sudden, and Rose can't blame him.

"I, uh, well, I'm sorry for being such a bitch all those months ago," she says in one breath, squeezing her eyes closed. "But I've got myself sorted now, and I was wondering if you could maybe come and help me out—again?"

He sighs, a deep, great, mocking sigh that Rose can tell is faked. "I'm always saving you, aren't I, Miss Weasley?" he laughs, and she can't help but laugh, too, even though her ankle is killing her.

"Hey, I'm just helping you out with this hero complex you've always had!" she replies, and suddenly, it feels natural. It feels like it did before she left home, effortless like breathing—and that's how she wanted it to be. "I'm in the photocopying room in The Times, on floor twenty three. Feel free to Apparate right in—oh!" before she's even finished giving instructions on where she is, there's a crack and Scorpius has appeared before her.

He gives her a cocky grin, one that she hasn't seen in a decade (and that hurts her heart, so she tries not to think about it) and he waves his wand lazily to remove the newspapers. "Episkey!" he says, pointing his wand now at her leg, and there's a burning sensation that passes over Rose. It disappears and with it goes the pain.

"I…thank you," Rose says, suddenly awkward now she doesn't know what to say or do. "You've saved me more than once, Scorpius—you're the reason why I'm here."

Without a word, Scorpius crosses the distance between them and helps Rose to her feet before wrapping her in his arms, pressing his lips to her neck. "I've missed you so, so much, Rosie, you don't know how much." His voice sounds as though he's being torn into pieces, and Rose instantly feels guilt for what she's done to him.

It's not just her who has been affected from the last decade; it's Scorpius, her parents, her brother, her aunts and uncles, her cousins and her friends—she's not been as alone in the grief, in the pain, as she thought. She's been selfish, self-centred and completely egoistical, thinking that nobody cared about her but herself, and that's wrong.

"I am so, so sorry," she whispers into Scorpius' ear, tears streaming down her face as the waterworks burst open. "I should never have left you, not when I caused so much pain and heartbreak and _everything_, oh god, I'm sorry!"

"It's alright, Rosie-Posie," he says quietly, rubbing his hand up and down her back, his voice its usual, soothing self. "You're safe now. But you needed to do this to find who you are—and look at you now! You've got a chance to be a world-class journalist—or you will do, at least—and you're doing good, right?"

She nods slowly. "Yes…but I need you, now. Scorpius, you're the one who got me here; without you…without you, I would—"

"Be here," Scorpius cuts in, pulling away from Rose so that he can cup her face in his hands. "You don't need a man to get to where you are, Rose; you would have gotten here eventually. I just love you, and I needed to make sure that you were ok—you would have been fine, even if I didn't barge into your life."

Somehow, Rose manages to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks (or maybe she's cried her quota of tears, she doesn't know) and smiles. "I love you, Scorpius. And I love this job—I love my life now, and it's not Muggle or magical; it's both. And I don't know if that's safe or normal or even if it can last…"

"Hey, hey!" he murmurs, noting that she's about to start crying again. "It will work because we'll make it work; we can get a flat together in the city, near to here but not too near—you don't want to see your workplace out of the window, _believe_ me—and then we can live together. We can go visit your parents and I'll ask your dad if I can marry you, because I know already that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Rose smiles wider, the tears dripping onto her clothes now, and she wipes them away before putting a hand on her beau's face, pulling him closer to her. "I say yes already," she murmurs, closing her eyes. "You've saved me from everything, and even from myself, and I don't know if I could live without you any longer, Scor. So, I say yes, yes one thousand times, even though you've not even asked the question yet!"

He laughs and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "That's something else that I've always loved—and missed—about you, Rose Weasley: you always jump the gun. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Their lips meet, and for the first time in a decade, Rose feels completely and utterly at home. F_inally_, she thinks, _finally I have the life I want—and I got it all by myself._

(She decides to ignore the hiccups along the way.)

* * *

I'd appreciate it if you didn't favourite without reviewing, thank you!


End file.
